must die; I must bid farewell to the warm sunshine, the fresh green, and all the beautiful things which God has created.' And then he thrust his beak into the cool turf to refresh himself a little with the fresh grass, and his eye fell on the daisy. Then the bird nodded to it and kissed it with his beak, and said, 'You also will wither here, you poor little flower. They have given you to me with the little patch of green grass on which you grow, in exchange for the whole world which was mine out there. Each little blade of grass was to me as a great tree, and each of your white leaves a flower. Alas! you only show me how much I have lost.' 'Oh, if I could only comfort him!' thought the daisy, but she could not move a leaf; yet the perfume from her leaves was stronger than is usual in these flowers, and the bird noticed it; and though he was fainting with thirst, and in his pain pulled up the green blades of grass, he did not touch the flower. The evening came, and yet no one appeared to bring the bird a drop of water. Then he stretched out his pretty wings and shook convulsively; he could only sing 'Tweet, tweet,' in a weak, mournful tone. His little head bent down towards the flower; the bird's heart was broken with want and pining. Then the flower could not fold its leaves as it had done the evening before to sleep, but it drooped sick and sorrowful towards the earth. Not till morning did the boys come, and when they found the bird dead they wept many and bitter tears; they dug a pretty grave for him, and adorned it with leaves of flowers. The bird's lifeless body was placed in a smart red box, and he was buried with great honour. Poor bird! while he was alive and could sing they forgot him, and allowed him to sit in his cage and suffer want, but now he was dead they mourned for him with many tears, and buried him in royal state. But the turf with the daisy on it was thrown out into the dusty road. No one thought of the little flower which had felt more for the poor bird than any one else, and would have been so glad to help and console him if she had been able to do so.

PART II.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

THE WAY TO BE HAPPY.-Abbott.

EVERY child must observe how much more happy and beloved some children appear to be than others. There are children with whom you may always love to be; they are happy themselves, and they make others happy. But there are children whose society you would always avoid, the very expression of whose countenances produces unpleasant feelings, and who seem to have no friends.

No person can be happy without friends. The heart is formed for love, and cannot be happy without the opportunity of giving and receiving affection.

But you cannot receive affection unless you will also give it. You cannot find others to love you unless you will also love them. Love is only to be obtained by giving love in return. If your companions do not love you it is your own fault. They cannot help loving you if you will be kind and friendly. If you are not loved, it is good evidence that you do not deserve to be loved. It is true that a sense of duty may at times render it necessary for you to do that which is displeasing to your companions.

But if it is seen that you have a kind spirit, that you are above selfishness, that you are willing to make sacrifices of your own personal convenience to promote the happiness of your associates, you will never be in want of friends. You must not regard it as your misfortune, but your fault, when others do not love you. It is not beauty, it is not wealth that will give you friends. Your heart must glow with kindness, if you would attract to yourself the esteem and affection of those by whom you are surrounded. You are little aware how much the happiness of your whole life depends upon the cultivation of an affectionate and obliging disposition. If you adopt the resolu

tion to confer favours whenever you have an opportunity, you will surround yourself with friends. Begin upon this principle in childhood, and act upon it through life, and you will not only make yourself happy, but also promote the happiness of all within your influence. You go to school on a cold winter morning. A bright fire is blazing upon the hearth, surrounded with boys struggling to get near it to warm themselves. After you get slightly warmed, another schoolmate comes in, suffering with the cold.

'Here, James,' you call out to him, 'I am almost warm, you may have my place.'

As you slip aside to allow him to take your place at the fire, will he not feel that you are kind? A boy with the worst disposition in the world cannot help admiring such generosity. And even though he do not return the favour at the time, you may depend upon it that, as far as he is capable of friendship, he will be your friend. If you habitually act upon this principle, you will never want for friends. Suppose you are out with your companions playing at ball. After you have been playing for some time another boy joins you. He cannot be chosen upon either

side, for there is no one to match him.

'Henry,' you say, 'you may take my place a little while, and I will rest.'

You throw yourself down upon the grass, while Henry, fresh and vigorous, takes your bat and engages in the game. He knows that you gave up to accommodate him; and how can he help liking you for it? The fact is, that neither man nor child can cultivate such a spirit of generosity and kindness without attracting affection and esteem.

Look and see who of your companions have the most friends, and you will find that they are those who have this generous spirit; who are willing to deny themselves that they may make their associates happy. This is not pecu

liar to childhood, but is the same in all periods of life. There is but one way to make friends, and that is by being friendly to others.

Perhaps some child who reads this may feel conscious

of being disliked, and yet desire to have the affection of his companions. You ask me what you shall do. I will tell you what. I will give you an infallible direction. Do all in your power to make others happy. Be willing to make sacrifices of your own convenience that you may promote the happiness of others.

This is the way to make friends, and the only way. When you are playing with your brothers and sisters at home, be always ready to give them more than their share of privileges. Manifest an obliging disposition, and they cannot but regard you with affection. In all your intercourse with others, at home or abroad, let these feelings influence you, and you will receive a rich reward.

ATTENTION AND INDUSTRY REWARDED.—Berquin.

A RICH husbandman had two sons, the one exactly a year older than the other. The very day the second was born, he set, in the entrance of his orchard, two young apple trees, of equal size, which he cultivated with the same care, and which grew so equally, that no person could perceive the least difference between them.

When his children were capable of handling garden tools, he took them, one fine morning in spring, to see these two trees, which he had planted for them, and called after their names; and when they had sufficiently admired their growth, and the number of blossoms that covered them, he said, 'My dear children, I give you these trees: you see they are in good condition. They will thrive as much by your care, as they will decline by your negligence; and their fruit will reward you in proportion to your labour.'

The youngest, named Edmund, was industrious and attentive. He busied himself in clearing his tree of insects that would hurt it, and he propped up its stem, to prevent its taking a wrong bent. He loosened the earth about it, that the warmth of the sun, and the moisture of the dews, might cherish the roots. His mother had not tended him

more carefully in his infancy than he tended his young apple tree.

He

His brother, Moses, did not imitate his example. spent a great deal of time on a mount that was near, throwing stones at the passengers in the road. He went among all the little dirty boys in the neighbourhood, to box with them; so that he was often seen with broken shins and black eyes, from the kicks and blows he received in his quarrels.

In short, he neglected his tree so far, that he never thought of it, till, one day in autumn, he, by chance, saw Edmund's tree so full of apples, streaked with purple and gold, that had it not been for the props which supported its branches, the weight of its fruit must have bent it to the ground.

Struck with the sight of so fine a tree, he hastened to his own, hoping to find as large a crop upon it; but, to his great surprise, he saw scarcely anything, except branches covered with moss, and a few yellow, withered leaves. Full of passion and jealousy, he ran to his father, and said, 'Father, what sort of a tree is that which you have given me? It is as dry as a broomstick, and I shall not have ten apples on it. My brother you have used better: bid him, at least, share his apples with me.'

'Share with you!' said his father; 'so, the industrious must lose his labour to feed the idle! Be satisfied with your lot; it is the effect of your negligence; and do not think to accuse me of injustice when you see your brother's rich crop.

'Your tree was as fruitful, and in as good order as his; it bore as many blossoms, and grew in the same soil; only it was not fostered with the same care. Edmund has kept his tree clear of hurtful insects; but you have suffered them to eat up yours in its blossoms.

'As I do not choose to let anything which God has given me, and for which I hold myself accountable to Him, go to ruin, I shall take this tree from you, and call it no more by your name. It must pass through your brother's hands before it can recover itself; and, from this moment, both it, and the fruit it may bear, are his property.